


Lay Me Gently in the Cold Dark Earth

by Lavish_Witchling



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A Second Apocalypse, Actually proof read this time, Alcohol, Angst, Biblical References, Blood, Demisexual Aziraphale, F/F, F/M, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Have a slightly different version on tumblr, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired from the pre-fall Crowley artwork glorify-the-bright-haired-ellon drew on Tumblr, Link of artwork will be in the notes, M/M, Post-Armageddon, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Warfare, Should I make a part 2 of this?, War, Wing Grooming, pre-fall Crowley, still a work in progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-08-23 10:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20241160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavish_Witchling/pseuds/Lavish_Witchling
Summary: In the beginning, there was a rebellion.Ending in pools of gold and tattered robes.The Burning Light of Hell shall reign as a hellion.He who did not fall, but saunter vaguely downwards.Thy war will be kingdom come.*UPDATE 10/21/19: At the moment the story is unfortunately cancelled. Due to the fact that I'm currently rewriting the story and I have no clue when it will be posted. Though stay tuned!*





	1. Prologue

_ “Let there be light.” _

_ Cold and desolate the void was. Thrumming in hunger upon the divinity in his veins. The seraphim, known as Kokabiel, exhaled a contented sigh. Relishing in his own element, a lightbringer alongside Lucifer. But what delivered him true happiness and enjoyment was the cherub, Aziraphale. _

_ The name rolled beautifully off his tongue. Spoken in such ecstasy, hidden behind a veil of euphoria. Ruled by the angel whose smile was quite contagious enough for Kokabiel to grin in wicked delight. _

_ “Megaloprepís…” Aziraphale whispered. “What do you call it?” _

_ “Good question agápi” Kokabiel replied, interlocking his fingers with the cherub’s. “I’m sure the almighty will be displeased if I leave it nameless.” _

_ “Can I help?” Again. That ravishing smile of his sending a flurry of warmth deep within Kokabiel’s core. _

_ “Of course you can, angel.” _

“You’re daydreaming again.”

Crowley blinked, shifting his serpentine eyes to Aziraphale. 

“Sorry angel…”

The Principality of Eden cringed, “I appreciate the nickname dear, but… I’m afraid _ angel _no longer suits me.”

Crowley’s face fell and his lips parted in a silent voice. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

Outside a nightingale halted their tune.

Aziraphale pressed his lips to the glass, savoring the whiskey he purchased too long ago. _ Smug bastard _ . Obviously avoiding the subject at hand, and lord above, fucking tired of it. Crowley resorted to never utter a word about _ anything _. But one day Aziraphale will burn out. And he will rage.

_ Removed from his splendor, the starlight had been removed. The nameless host whom followed in envy and curiosity. A light who is eternally burning through sulphur and brimstone. _

“The longer you hold it in, the more distant you’ll become.”

“From you?”

“_ No _.” It came out harsher than he meant, “Your humanity.”

In the days after the antichrist shifted the course of Armageddon, Crowley and Aziraphale were placed in trial. Whereas Crowley’s trial was justified by execution from holy water - murdering a fellow demon surely withheld any innocence - however, with Aziraphale… it was execution by hellfire. Only one, harmless, charge was enough to justify the conclusion of his trial. No one intervened, and God remained silent as ever. The spillage of divine and demonic blood were to spoil holy and unholy ground. Either side satisfied by two perished souls.

Nothing happened, thankfully.

The parchment of paper burned a hole in Aziraphale’s pocket. A lovely bit of salvation written by a centuries-old witch. Thanking her to have granted them another day to see earthly light. 

“When I fell…” Crowley began. Finishing the remnants of whiskey from his own glass, “I burned for weeks.” 

“I kept telling myself _ I am who I am, I am divine, I am heavenly, I am good. _I never accepted what I was after the Rebellion. I was afraid of what I represented. A sinner, evil incarnate, all of the above.”

“You’re much more than that!” Aziraphale exclaimed. Crowley couldn’t endure the failure aching his heart when witnessing the hurt manifesting his love’s eyes. A soft blue… now altered with a ring of molten gold. Iridescent in the sunlight. Evidence of his failure when rescuing him earlier on.

“Now I do” The serpent mused. “And it was because of one person.”

“Who?” Such a dense fool, god he loved him.

“You, obviously.”

Embarrassment flushed Aziraphale’s cheeks in admiration, “Ah, of course.” Then he frowned. “But we never knew each other after the Rebellion. We met in the Garden of Eden.”

“Yeah… we did.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Crowley.” Not a question. A demand.

“I rather not dwell on it too much.” He quickly averted _ this _particular subject. “My point is, acknowledge what you are before… it builds up inside of you to the point you’re too overwhelmed.”

“_Tch_, overwhelmed by what? Being a demon? A fallen angel? Tainted and ruined by the ethereals of Heaven? Sensing _ every _ ounce of the seven deadly sins by sinners that… that I want to _ feast on their damnation _?” His voice broke.

“Wait-wait, slow down angel and take it easy.” Crowley placed a hand on the fallen angel, rubbing his shoulder in soothing motions. The pain of longing to tell anyone took its toll on Aziraphale. “You don’t have to tell me anything else. I’m sorry for bringing it up…” 

“Crowley I… you’re right.” Aziraphale admitted, “Fuck… you’re right about everything…”

He hated being right. 

Fighting the urge to clench his jaw, Crowley intently listened to Aziraphale.

“When my wings-_ my wings _were severed from my back I felt every ounce of divinity drain, as if I was dying. No one should experience anything we went through. Not even the angels who fell.”

_ “All I’ve done is ask questions!” Kokabiel wailed. Struggling in the iron-tight grip of Michael and Uriel. Searching for any pity in Gabriel’s and Raphael’s eyes - his sister’s eyes, their eyes - to alter their decision. “Please don’t cut my wings!” _

_ Raphael gnawed the wound in her lip and turned to Gabriel. “His crimes aren’t as serious. He hasn’t slaughtered any fellow angels during the war.” _

_ “How can you take his side?” _

_ “Do not wound an angel any further when they’re already down.” She said hoarsely. The best she can do to spare the rebellious angel. “Of course, the almighty will not be pleased with the alternative.” _

_ Gabriel directed his attention to Michael and Uriel, his feathers ruffling in irritation. “Retrieve the hellfire. Afterwards, chain him to the floor and burn his wings.” Gabriel was going to taint his wings… a fate deemed to become a constant reminder of his rebellion. “And send him to the infernal regions of K_ _ólasi when you’re finished.” _

_ “So he is declared fallen?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ Kokabiel broke the tense moment, “Let me see him one last time… Aziraphale.” He pleaded “please.” _

_ The archangel turned away. “The Principality has been assigned to guard the Eastern Gate for The Garden of Eden until further notice.” Then he spat a vile curse in the old tongue. “On close observation of course, considering he managed to break through our defenses numerous times.” Golden tears silvered Kokabiel’s eyes. “He will have no memory of you and your name when dawn rises in the east.” _

_ With nothing else to inquire about Aziraphale, except remembering every moment before the war and Rebellion, Kokabiel asks “What is to be my name when I do fall?” _

_ “Crawly.” _


	2. Lady of Slaughter

_ Her blood sang with the cacophony of whispered prayers. Sheltered in a world beyond the shadows, fangs cleaving through the darkness. Pumping with an adrenaline craving to be released in the realm of mortality. Remained bound by sheer order and respect. _

_ Jophiel, Lady of Slaughter, studied the temple whilst drinking her wine. Long abandoned and reeked of the divine and the fallen. A predatory glare in the eyes of ashes and smoke, swirled in feral delight. No one had noticed her scaling the parapets of stone during the rainfall. And going over the plans she memorized from the almighty’s orders, the hunt began. _

“A Dominion is on Earth.”

Aziraphale, adjusting the lapels of his coat, was stunned. “From the Silver City? Dominions have been eradicated for centuries, dear.”

_ The fire brought memories of loss and anguish. Echoed through sobs of frustration escaping the serpent’s lips as he sprinted through a sea of blood. Slashing with elongated claws and fangs upon the demonic degenerates of Azazel’s division in Hell. Eager to find his love as a bitter wind swept by Crowley, indicating the scent of divinity. _

“Eradicated? Last I checked the Dominions were lords beside the Seraphim.” Crowley muttered. Tugging at the loose braid perched on his shoulder.

“Yes… but _ She _ sought their alliance in her court.” 

“Should we be worried?”

“I don’t know” Azirapale’s fingers grazed the serpent etched on Crowley’s skin. “I’m sorry my dear, I don’t know.”

Without another word, the fallen Principality pressed a tentative kiss on the demon’s lips. Exhilarated from the uncertainty between them for so long. Thus, can engage in sensual moments together. The smallest things blossom a warmth between them, whether it may be soft kisses, laying in bed, or basking in each other's company. Bound in a connection through delicate trust. 

“That was ravishing love…” Crowley breathed. “But should we…”

“Look into it about the Dominion? Yes, of course.”

Crowley gave a nod of affirmation, sauntering with his usual stance when running a hand through the splotched, ashen curls of Aziraphale’s. “Still think about it?” The fragrance of earth, intoxicating and captivating awhile oils of jasmine ushered gracefully.

“The day I was… I was declared fallen? Yes. I do.” 

They left it at that. 

Aziraphale wanted to visit the subject more, desperately. Knowing Crowley was a comforting delight when the hard days came and went. Nestled under his chin beneath the tower of embryonic shrub. Mighty, vigorous wings sheltering them from the delicate frame of rain, or the harshness of an occasional autumn breeze. 

“I can warm us a cup of tea. Chamomile so you can shut those heavenly eyes of yours.”

The smile was warm and inviting from Aziraphale. “You’re too good for me, despite recent events. Quite _ nice _ if I say so myself.”

“Oi! I’m not nice, angel!” His apparent annoyance was playful.

_ The ominous glows of golds and reds painted the horizon. Heavenly and sinful air dazed with wine and merit chatter grew silent. Jophiel sighed through her nose, tightening her fists enough to reveal a stance of a seasoned warrior. Opulent and regal and obedient. Favored words in the Silver City. Words her, Samael, and Azazel established in their shared time together._

_ “Hey! Lady of Slaughter, come ‘ere love!” _

_ Jophiel fought the urge to roll her eyes and accepted the mutual handshake from Samael. “I begun the hunt.” _

_ “Shit. Already?” _

_ “Yes, my sources say the demons, Aziraphale and Crowley are located in London.” Then added, “Formerly known as, the Principality and Serpent of Eden.” _

_ Samael listened with keen interest. Transcending from the role of a friend to the role of a general, “Won’t they slaughter you on the spot? Considering the handful of rogue’s from Azazel’s division caused the Principality to fall?” _

_ “I can deal with the-” _

_ “They’re trained, Jophiel. More than six thousand years of experience.” _

_ She remembered the midmorning sun streaming through the war camps of the Silver City. Sent into the bloody pits of mire and gore. However, after living among the war lords and Dominions her age… Jophiel practically incinerated the war camp at the prime age of nineteen. Acting out of insolence due to the lashings she received from disobeying an order. The damned camp claimed her, ruined her. Becoming a caged bird who could never feel the song of the wind cradling her wings. _

_ So Jophiel burned the punisher until his flesh melted off bone, suffocating the living hell out of him as the ground turned from gold to stark red in the shadows. Oh, how she lusted being released from her contract the following day and, surprisingly, was promoted by God._

_ The Dominion sheathed her dagger, behind Samael, Azazel shook their head in warning. _

_ “The fools may be far older than any of us… dealt with more shit than any of us… so they have every reason to join our divisions. Considerable war allies to confront Heaven and Hell for humanity.” _

_ Azazel’s gold-flecked black eyes gleamed in admiration, though nothing could prevent the worry plaguing both generals. Jophiel was only a commander for the fifty third legion of the Silver City. _

_Which made her truly unyielding. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue where I'm going with this. I'm just invested in Jophiel's friendship with Samael and Azazel. There is also Lucifer references in here!

**Author's Note:**

> https://glorfy-the-bright-haired-ellon.tumblr.com/post/186802557161/lol-what-if-crowley-had-freckles-that-were-stars
> 
> https://glorfy-the-bright-haired-ellon.tumblr.com/post/185850093776/my-brains-been-stuck-on-a-loop-of-hhhhhhh
> 
> Their artwork is quite beautiful and lovely!
> 
> The story was also inspired by the song "Work Shop" by Hozier
> 
> Tumblr: https://assassin-faith-2001.tumblr.com/


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